


Take the air from my lungs

by Insignias



Category: Original Work
Genre: Detox, Drug Abuse, Drug Use, Gen, M/M, Prostitution, Suicide Attempt, Unhealthy Relationships, mentions of - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-09
Updated: 2013-08-09
Packaged: 2017-12-22 21:37:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/918289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Insignias/pseuds/Insignias
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>JJ takes a trip down memory lane and old wounds get infected again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Take the air from my lungs

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nogutsnoglory](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=nogutsnoglory).



> This is my half of an art/fic trade with nogutsnoglory. It's incredibly overdue and I am very sorry for the delay--it should not have taken this long to complete. I hope she enjoys it all the same. The characters and universe are hers.
> 
> Cross-posted to tumblr.
> 
> Again, I would like to reiterate that this fic contains serious content that includes but is not limited to mentions of drug use, drug abuse, prostitution, suicide attempts, and unhealthy detoxing. None of these actions are promoted as healthy or should be attempted by anyone.
> 
> Thank you.

It’s too easy to slide back into the old route, to hit on Wagner’s Street and Old Georgian; watch the hussies do their things down the sidewalk, hips swinging and hollow eyes sliding down the steady row of cars that creep on by. It’s like diving straight into fucking nostalgia city and he changes his route right quick; too many of those girls seem familiar and he doesn’t want to think about why right now.

How he ends up on the far side of the East is beyond even his considerable knowledge, and catching sight of the same markers; the half-rusted sign of Rudy’s Roadhouse still hanging limply by one bolt, the faint roar of highway traffic and the prevalent, rotted-corpse stench of the river send uncomfortable jolts down his spine.

He’s licking his lips and wondering vaguely if he should call someone; tell them to get him out of here before he does something too stupid, when a commotion draws his attention to the urine-stench soaked alleyway to the right.

There’s a gasp and a whump and then faint sounds of a scuffle and a sharp, pain-shocked cry from within. JJ’s shouting something and stepping into the alley before he realizes it, instincts even older than those that guided his feet here kicking in with a vengeance. There’s a muffled curse and the sound of flesh hitting flesh in a slap, then a moment later he’s dodging the hurried stumble of a thickly-built bald guy, his lip split and thin beard dotted with fresh blood, his pants only half pulled down his thighs. JJ sneers after him as he bolts down the street, spitting into the grimy concrete before he glances around for anyone else.

A wheezing cough drags his attention back to the alley and he thinks better of it—checking on the probable loser of whatever that was seems the better thing to do.

He skirts the small black puddle near the entrance of the alleyway, his dark brown boots crunching on worn shards of glass, and makes for the end of the dumpsters. It’s the logical place and not just because he’s been there before.

“Hey.” He calls out, because he’s not a fucking idiot and whores carry knives and know how to use them better than everyone else around here, “You alright?”

Another wheezing cough is all he gets, coupled with the scrape shoes. JJ sighs, because he wants to have better things to do than this but he really doesn’t, “Look, I don’t give a shit what you were up to just now. I just want to know you’re alright.”

“Yes,” hisses a choked voice, and the soft tone of it tugs at an old scab at the back of his mind, “'M busy. Go away.”

“Sorry, kid, but I only believe it if I see it.” He drawls. JJ’s got some experience with street kids to know when to press and when to back off. He’ll just pop on in for a look and be on his way, make sure she’s all right (and if she isn’t, maybe he’ll make a couple of calls).

He rounds the corner of the dumpster, expecting to see some sweet little thing strung out and trying to make herself presentable (or maybe even a boy since he’s edging toward that part of town), but what he gets has him stopping dead and something in him turn ice cold.

The young man crouched before him is wraith-thin and wearing something that leaves nothing to the imagination, even with a torn raincoat to keep the chill off. He’s pale and gaunt; hollowed out from the inside.

But those sky-blue eyes and pale-pink lips, swollen and slick with someone else’s come, aren't something JJ'll forget in this lifetime.

“Jesus fuck.” JJ breathes and feels lost again; drowning in black water.

Jackie stares up at him, blinking slowly, almost dazed, leather wallet clutched in his hands, the crumpled bills half pulled out. He pauses and licks his lips, looking as thoughtful as someone can when they’re blissed out.

“That’ll be forty just like the last one.” He informs JJ glibly, tugging out the rest of the bills and tucking him into his pockets. Knobby fingers find the zip for the coins and he dumps those out as well, not bothering to look up from his work just yet, “How do you like it?”

“Jesus fuck.” JJ repeats because that’s all he can hear in his head. Cuss words and pain and memories of that night. His fingers twitch, inch toward the thin scars that wrap his wrists, dropping as Jackie brings his gaze up to meet JJ's own.

“Nervous?” The blond kid asks (because Jackie’s always been a kid; always been smaller and younger and sweeter than JJ ever was). He leans forward, hooks two fingers in JJ’s jeans to pull him closer, “Don't be. Promise I’ll give you the best you’ve ever had. Pretty sweet deal, yeah?” He licks his lips again, one quick swipe of a thin, pale tongue. JJ remembers what it felt like on his skin and shudders, tensing in sense memory and crawling horror.

“Jackie,” He rasps, hands catching on too-pale fingers. God, it's like the kid's just bones, “Jackie it’s me.”

Jackie hums noncommittally and tugs him forward another inch, “Is that who you want me to be, love? I’ll be your good little Jackie, your best little boy. Just let me show you how.”

The slap is quick; sharp and loud in the empty alley. Jackie falls back on his ass; startled, his blood-shot eyes blown wide. The old Jackie would've been on him for that. He'd have screamed, clawed JJ all to hell and given him a kick in the nads for good measure. This one just licks his lips, rubs his cheek a little and turns back with dull eyes.

"That'll be fifty, then. Upfront." He says, all easy-peasy. Like he's selling ice cream and the customer asked for extra sprinkles.

"Jesus fucking Christ."

He doesn't remember pulling Jackie to his feet and shoving him into the filthy brick wall, but Jackie's staring up at him with dull eyes; bloodshot and hazy from whatever he's juiced up on. Crack, maybe; heroin if he's far enough gone. He's tears at the thin jacket on Jackie's shoulders, only half-realizing that Jackie's not putting up any sort of fight, to get a look at his arms; his chest. Bone-thin and pock-marked to all hell. Track marks mixed with bruises, old and new. Jackie's more fucked up now than JJ was at his worst.

"Jackie," He breathes, and can't keep the horror out of his voice, "Jackie boy, what the fuck have you been doing?"

"Surviving." The junkie answers after a moment, and he's gone cold; blue eyes like ice, "What the fuck else is there to do out here, JJ?"

"You didn't even like this shit!" JJ snarls, adrenaline pumping; something roaring in his ears, "Your fucking priss-ass wouldn't even try it half the time!"

The other man cants his head, one careless hand sliding his jacket back onto his shoulder, "Things change. Kinda like people. You gonna fuck me, or what?"

JJ startles, taken aback. "Like fuck I am!" Like he could fuck Jackie while he's like this--like he could fuck Jackie ever again after--

Jackie raises a thin brow, and for a moment he's the Jackie JJ remembers. "Not very good with words still, are ya?" A hip cocks out as pencil thin arms cross over his chest, "C'mon then; haven't got all day. You in or out?" He starts to giggle; high-pitched and for far too long.

JJ stares at him, wide-eyed. This isn't his Jackie. This is some strung out, fucked-up junkie too high to realize he's out in freezing weather with a fucking rain jacket on. He's out of his goddamn mind. And it's JJ's fault. It's all his fucking fault.

He grabs at Jackie's arm, ignoring the other man's yelp of protest, "You're coming with me."

"Oooh." The younger man coos, "Grown some balls, JJ? Finally gonna fuck me like you mean it?"

"Like hell."

\-----------------------------------------

"This is fucking kidnapping!" Shrieks Jackie from the bathroom, right before he retches into the toilet again. JJ watches from the doorway, arms crossed but large enough to block the passage, not that Jackie has the strength to leave anymore.

"You can't do this to me! I'm a fucking adult!"

"I'm not going to let you kill yourself." JJ answers, straining for calm even as Jackie bends over the cheap toilet again. This is stupid, he knows it's stupid. Jackie should be detoxing somewhere with medical facilities, somewhere like 'Haven where there's doctors and meds and shit, but it'd have to be his choice and JJ can barely think right now, let alone convince Jackie to go.

Jackie wipes a hand over his mouth, tremors wracking his body in waves. He must feel like shit, like he'd do anything for a hit, but JJ's gonna get him through this. He's going to get Jackie sober; he's not going to let him die.

"Who the fuck do you think you are, JJ?" Jackie rasps finally, one hand clenched tight on the lip of the toilet seat, the rest of him turning to face JJ, "You think you have the right to order me around? I'm not the one who sampled the product before selling it, now am I? I'm not the one who sold his boyfriend to perverts for cash. You're not going to let me kill myself? Who the fuck gave you the right to order me around after you treated me like such fucking shit?"

"Jackie--" He starts, but Jackie whirls around to start another round of dry heaves, his shoulders shaking with the effort of keeping him level enough to reach the bowl. JJ hesitates, then moves into the tiny motel bathroom, settling a hand on Jackie's shoulder to steady him.

Jackie's response is to pound a fist into JJ's gut and make a break for the door.

He's a foot away when JJ slams him into the wall, bracing himself against the thrashing addict with all his strength. Jackie may be rail-thin, but he's vicious and out to get him. There's not much to lose when you're going through withdrawal, "Fuck you!" He screams, clawing at JJ's arms, "Who the fuck do you think you are! I want my fucking fix!"

"Well, you're not getting it!" JJ shouts; frustrated and pissed beyond reason, "You're gonna fucking sober up and think for once!"

"I don't want to think!" Jackie screeches, bucking against the wall and trying to kick his way free, "Why can't you fucking understand that I don't want to think! I don't want to listen to you or your fucking voice or anything you fucking want to do! You're a fucking monster and I hate you!"

JJ snarls and rams Jackie back into the wall, arms taunt with the effort of keeping the slighter man contained, "I'm not going to let you kill yourself over me!"

His hands squeeze Jackie's shoulders and he looks up at Jackie, desperation plain on his face, "Hate me, fucking kill me if you want, but don't kill yourself, Jackie. I can't let you do this to yourself."

JJ's chest heaves; blood roaring in his ears . C'mon Jackie, think for once. Remember for once. That you're better than this.

"It's all about you, isn't it, JJ?"

He blinks, and stares at him He can almost see the outline of Jackie's skull; how fucking nuts is that.

"It's always about you. Your fucking wants. Your fucking needs. 'I need money, Jackie, go fuck that guy,' 'I need a fix, Jackie, go get that gram from the usual place,' 'I need to fuck, Jackie, so get your ass ready.' Well, you know fucking what, you shitface? Fuck you. I'm sick of your shit and your needs and your motherfucking face!"

Jackie raises one sharp foot to slam until his belly. JJ grunts, and almost topples; his grip against Jackie loosening. Jackie sneers, desperation in his eyes and in his renewed efforts; victory in sight. "You think you know shit about me? You think you can just waltz back in here and fix my life?"

A sharp kick to JJ's groin and JJ falls, grunting in agony. "You don't have the fucking right, you hear me? You don't get to tell me shit."

Jackie sneers down at him and turns to snag his jacket. His body trembles with the effort and he drops his jacket twice, but he manages and uses the wall as a crutch. JJ squirms, and reaches a hand out stop him--but gets another kick to the chest for his trouble.

"Jackie, please---"

"Don't fucking come for me again, you piece of shit. I'm not your fucking property anymore."

And without even a look behind him, he's gone.


End file.
